


Quickies

by dodge62



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A cat - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodge62/pseuds/dodge62





	1. Strangers In Fanfic-Land

“Dude! We’re late!” Scott jumped into Stiles’ jeep and threw his backpack on the rear seat. It was early autumn, but still warm, so they were dressed in t-shirts, shorts and flips.

“Alright, calm down. We’re in college now, Scott. We don’t have teachers breathing down our necks anymore, watching our every move.”

Stiles swung the jeep out of Scott’s driveway and sped off toward the intersection at the end of the street.

“I thought you liked college,” Scott wondered, looking at the surf report on his phone.

“I do! It’s just…”

“Are you having nightmares again?” Scott swung around and looked intently at Stiles.

“No, no nightmares.”

“That’s a relief…”

“Dreams maybe.”

“MAYBE? Stiles, what are you talking about? Disturbing dreams?”

“No, Scott, disturbing dreams would be nightmares. These are dreams… just a little strange.”

Scott settled back in his seat, relaxing a bit, but he couldn’t stop looking at his bff. “Strange how?”

“You promise not to laugh?”

“Of course.” Scott leaned all the way back and crossed his hands over his abs, ready for what he hoped was a good story.

They had spent the summer surfing, just the two of them, and Stiles’ anxieties and bad dreams had evaporated in the brilliant sunsets and the pounding surf. Scott glanced up at Stiles for the 20th time. Tanned to the point of glowing, the summer had left him cut and buff around the shoulders and chest, lightened his hair and somehow made his eyes stand out, like there was a light shining behind them. It didn’t seem fair that someone so hot, so clever and funny, should not be entirely right in the head.

Stiles settled himself more comfortably in his seat and pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose. “Ok, in these dreams, I’m a character in a hit TV show.”

“Yeah? What’s it about?

“It’s about werewolves; teen werewolves.”

“So, you’re a werewolf?” Scott couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“No. You are.”

“ME?” Scott jumped up in his seat, grinning at his virtual notoriety. “I’m in your dream?”

“Yeah. And this TV show is smokin’ hot! I mean, everybody watches! So while we’re doing this show and making bank and livin’ the life, at the same time, there’s all this fan fiction being written about us.”

“Ok…” Scott’s attention was waning now. Fan fiction wasn’t high on his list of interests, as much as, say, porn. Or even porn. He reached back for his backpack and pulled out a Snickers bar. It had melted a bit in his bag, so while he listened he carefully peeled back the wrapper.

“Did you bring enough for everyone, shithead?” Stiles was swinging his head back and forth between the road and the Snickers.

Scott just motioned impatiently for him to go on with his story while he gently coaxed back the wrapper, licking melted chocolate off his fingers.

“Ok, so anyway, in all this fan fiction that these kooks are writing, they’ve made me gay.”

“GAY?” Scott let out a belly laugh. “They don’t know you very well, do they? That’s funny. Are you gay… I mean is your character gay, in the show?”

“No. But I’m kinda always getting in this one guy’s face. This alpha werewolf…”

“What’s an alpha werewolf?” Scott had finally gotten enough of the candy bar exposed to take a bite, so his question was heavily mispronounced because of melting chocolate and caramel sticking to his teeth.

“Kinda the werewolf-in-charge. And I’m kinda a smartass on this show…”

“Art imitating life?” Scott mumbled, starting to lose the Snickers’ wrapper war.

“You’re on Cliff Notes restriction. Understand?”

Scott just smiled and nodded.

“Anyway, I’m suppose to secretly like this guy.”

“Yeah? You mean like in a gay way?”

“No. As a friend.”

“Do you know him in real life?”

“Mr. Hale.”

“Mr. Hale? Your history professor?” Scott gave up on the Snickers and tossed it out the window.

“Hey, I was hungry, too, ya know?”

“It tasted like sun block. I’ll buy you a fresh one when we get to school. So, ok, this is kinda a dream within a dream, is that it? You’re some guy on this TV show, but the real story is this AU where you’re a gay guy with the total hots for this master werewolf guy.”

“Who is Derek Hale,” Stiles reminded him.

“Yeah, Mr. Hale.”

“Very good, Scott! I’m impressed!”

“So, what about it?”

“Ok, so the part of in the AU where I totally have the hots for this Hale guy?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s totally true.”


	2. Kookmeyer Tuesday

The sky was a deep and cloudless blue that morning, the temperature balmy at 75 degrees F. The waves were what seasoned rippers called crunchy… perfectly shaped, breaking left to right at ten second intervals, 3 to 4 feet high, providing a twelve to eighteen-second ride. 

Stiles, Scott, Jackson and Isaac unloaded their boards and struggled into their wet suits. Tuesday at 7:00am there were no Kookmeyers present, the inhospitable name locals gave to the hapless suburbanites who thought they could surf, but were actually terrible at it.

Given the perfect day and the crunchy sea, Stiles and the rest surfed to their heart’s content… which meant they totally missed Mr. Hale’s history mid-term, scheduled with ample notice for 9:00am on the same day.

On the drive home, plans were laid.

“I think Stiles should call Professor Hale and ask him to let us retake the test,” Jackson put forward, lounging comfortably in the backseat with his sandy feet hanging out the window.

“Agreed!” Isaac voted, but Isaac always agreed with Jackson.

“Why me?” Stiles asked, leaning over to check whether or not cutting across 3 lanes of traffic would get them onto their preferred off-ramp or charcoal broil them in fiery death.

“Please!” Scott groused staring at his best mate in disbelief. “Hale is totally in love with you. Don’t you notice the way he looks at you in class?”

Jackson leaned forward and ruffled Stiles’ tangled hair. “If a prof looked at me like that, I’d be pulling down straight A’s, that’s for sure.”

Stiles was non-committal. The fact was, he was as crazy about Professor Hale as the distinguished scholar was about him. He was hesitant to use this mutual attraction to his advantage in such a callous, irresponsible way.

“Look,” Isaac volunteered. “Tell him that we went for a surf and then got a flat tire on the way home. He’ll totally believe you.”

“Totally,” said Jackson.

“Totally,” echoed Scott.

* * *

Professor Hale regarded his four errant surf-brats and again questioned his professional ethics. Technically, there shouldn’t be any make-ups for a midterm exam, but the sight of Stiles Stilinski standing in his office door, ripped in a white t-shirt, worn corduroy pants and sandy flips was enough to reduce the distinguished prof to quivering jelly. Still, he couldn’t just roll over. He had studiously checked the surf report for the day in question and found what he was looking for. He cleared his throat.

“Each of you please take a seat in one of the four corners of the room.”

The four of them looked at one another, shrugged, and made their way to one of the four corners as instructed.

“There will only be one question on today’s test,” Professor Hale remarked, “and it will account for a full 30% of your grade.”

Scott, Jackson and Isaac grinned at one another. ONE QUESTION?!!? Thank God for Stiles they all whispered up to heaven. First a make-up test, then only one question! If Stiles had been closer, they would have kissed him. Only Stiles saw the trap, and even then, only just before it snapped shut.

“Which tire went flat?” Professor Hale asked quietly.


	3. Herding Cats

“What… Why do you have a cat?”

Professor Hale stood in the front door of his apartment, dripping wet, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Stiles. That Professor Hale was wearing only a bath towel wasn’t lost on Stiles. He had only seen the prof in the classroom. Now, the sight of the man’s lean, cut body was almost overwhelming, so instead of saying anything, he just stared.

"Mr. Stilinski? Mr. Stilinski, how can I help you?”

Stiles was wearing an oft-washed blue t-shirt, faded blue jeans that fit him perfectly in all the right places and white trainers without socks. His sunglasses were shoved up into his shaggy hair and were somehow perfectly nestled there.

“I found your cat,” he suddenly blurted out.

The cat in question was becoming impatient, making her difficult to manage, so besides his favorite prof standing nearly naked in the doorway, Stiles was having to deal with a restless, difficult cat.

Hale studied him for a moment, then, inexplicably, smiled. “I don’t have a cat,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning against the door jam and drying his hands on the edge of the towel, pulling it up above mid-thigh as he did so. Whether because of the exposed thigh or the fact that the cat had had it, it was about this time that Stiles lost his struggle with the cat. The fed-up animal latched onto his shoulder with claws perfectly designed for grabbing and holding, and sank her teeth into his neck.

“AGH!” Stiles cried out, as the cat pitched off him. The beast hit the floor with graceful cat alacrity and bolted into the professor’s apartment. Hale tried to stop it, but it was too late. She disappeared into the back of the flat.

“I could have sworn it was your cat,” Stiles grumbled, rubbing his shoulder.

“Really, Mr. Stilinski? And why is that?”

“Why? Ah… cuz you look like a cat dude.”

“A cat dude? Let me clue you in to two things, Mr. Stilinski. One, I don’t own a cat because I’m allergic.” He let out a violent sneeze as though to emphasize this fact. Two, you’re bleeding. You better come inside.”

Thinking his bathroom too personal a spot for a bleeding student, Hale guided Stiles into the kitchen. He grabbed a dishtowel out of a drawer and told him to hold the towel over the bite, then he disappeared down the hall, his pace punctuated by violent sneezes.

Stiles determined that events were not going as planned and was preparing to abort his mission when Hale came back into the kitchen wearing a pair of baggy jeans sans underwear and carrying a home first-aid kit.

“Take off your shirt,” Hale told him. The professor’s crotch was right at eye level as Stiles yanked off his shirt, totally distracted, tangling his glasses out of his hair, causing them to hit the floor with a discouraging clatter. He was leaning down to retrieve them while pulling the shirt off his arms when he managed to slam his head against the edge of the kitchen table.

“OW!” Stiles grabbed his forehead, seeing stars.

“How do you make it through the day, Mr. Stilinski?” Hale shook his head in apparent disbelief, but it was meant as a distraction, because he had just dumped half a bottle of antiseptic down his pant leg. Stiles’ toned and tanned upper body was magnificent to behold and it was taking all of Hale’s considerable willpower not to take the guy in his arms and lick him all over. But there were proprieties to be observed.

“This is going to sting…” Hale cautioned, preparing to apply the dripping wad of cotton to the superficial wound. As Stiles turned to tell him not to worry, Hale stepped in to apply the antiseptic and Stiles’ face was, momentarily, planted snugly in the professor’s crotch.

Hale jumped back and Stiles almost fell out of his chair. They stared at one another for a quick second, Stiles’ eyes wide and adoring, Hale’s patient, curious.

“Let me get a band aid,” he said hoarsely. Stiles managed a rough “Yeah, sure.”

“Why did you think that was my cat?” Hale asked, rummaging around in the first aid kit for a band-aid that was in plain sight.

Stiles thought that admitting that he had been almost an hour luring the cat down from a windowsill just to have an excuse to visit Hale was probably TMI. He cleared his throat.

“I didn’t, really. Just knocked on the first door I came to. Didn’t know it was yours, bro.”

“Professor Hale.”

“Professor…”

“Would be better, don’t you think?” Hale turned back with the band-aid and tore off the paper to make his point.

“Sure,” Stiles said, looking down at the floor.

“What were you doing out in this part of town, anyway?”

“Ah… well, see, there’s this betty lives out here and I, ah… wanted to take her surfing.”

Hale applied the band-aid and smoothed it out. Stiles’ skin was like silk.

"A… Betty?”

“Ah, a chick, an emma… you know.”

Hale nodded. “A little late in the morning to go surfing, isn’t it?

“Yeah, well…”

“Wait here for just a second, ok?” Hale said over his shoulder, padding out of the room. He was back a few minutes later with the cat. “Unhappily, she fell asleep on the bed. Now you can take her back where she belongs.”

Stiles took the hint, got up, pulled his shirt back on and adjusted his sunglasses.

“Dude… ah, professor, I thought she was yours. I don’t know where she belongs.”

“Really, Mr. Stilinski? Why don’t you take her collar out your pocket and read the address on the tag.”

“The…?”

Hale reached over and grabbed the dangling end of the collar out of Stiles’ jeans and held it up for inspection.

“Number 107.” He led the boy out into the hall and spun him in the direction of the stairs. “Up there. Understand?”

He shoved the cat into Stiles’ arms and jammed the collar back into his pocket. He started to turn back into his flat, but then turned back into the hall.

“Oh, and, Stiles?”

“Stiles…?

Hale grabbed him by the arms and kissed him like his life depended on it, then looked at him sternly.

“The next time you want to come over, just knock, ok? It’ll be easier on the cat.”

He went back into the apartment, sneezed, and closed the door behind him, leaving Stiles standing in the hallway with the grumpy cat.

“Yeah… Ok, I’ll do that… Derek.”


End file.
